All the Right Moves
by Kyoko Kasshu Minamino
Summary: On the eve of Kobra's biggest scheme, Terry breaks his arm and is out of commission for a while. With Kobra targeting a new victim every week, someone will have to pick up the slack. That someone is Maxine Gibson. Ter/Max.
1. Chapter 1

_Let's paint the picture of a perfect place_

_They've got it better than when anyone's told ya_

_They'll be the King of Hearts and you're the Queen of Spades_

_Then we'll fight for you like we were your soldiers_

_I know we got it good, but they've got it made_

_And their grass is getting greener each day_

_I know things are looking up but soon they'll take us down_

_Before anybody's knowing our name_

_They've got all the right moves in all the right places_

_So yeah, we're going down_

_They've got all the right friends in all the right places _

_So yeah, we're going down…_

_-"All the Right Moves," OneRepublic_

It started with a telecast.

Terry thought that cyber-terrorism wouldn't be as much of a problem in 2040 because of the new stricter laws rolling into town after the presidential election two years prior but he was wrong. He'd been in his room aimlessly drawing doodles on his homework and crunching on a Girl Scout cookie when his cell phone went off with Max's ringtone—"Sour Cherry" by the Kills, she insisted—and answered with a relieved voice.

"You just saved my ass. I have no clue what's going on with this Geometry homework."

"Turn on the TV."

He lifted an eyebrow. "To what channel?"

"Any of them."

Instantly, the humor abated. Her tone was urgent and on the edge of afraid. He grabbed the remote and turned it on, his face paling as he recognized the man staring out at him from the plasma television.

"We are many. We are unstoppable. We will topple your government and usher in a new era. Tonight, we are making our first demand. The city of Gotham will reverse its decision to outlaw Kobra. If not, we will target every major political figure and kill them until our demands are met. You have twenty-four hours to respond. If not, Kobra will strike without mercy and all of Gotham will fall prey to its venom."

Then, like magic, the channel went back to its original programming.

"Did you see it?"

"Yeah," Terry said, his mouth dry. "Better get off the line, Max. He'll be calling any second."

"Got it. Call me as soon as you're done."

He hung up and not five seconds later, Bruce's ringtone—"A Superstitious Cowardly Lot", much to the old man's annoyance—filled the room. Terry answered before the musical got through its first verse.

"Suit up. _Now_."

"On it, boss."

Five minutes later, he was in the batmobile racing towards the Gotham Police headquarters with Bruce in his ear, barking out orders.

"You sure this is a good idea? The Commish isn't exactly a team player," Terry said, unable to help sounding hesitant.

"With a threat on this scale, we have to pool resources. She won't like it but she'll cooperate. I've known her for years."

Terry shuddered. "Don't remind me."

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

As expected, the ground floor of the police station was flooded with paparazzi. He parked on the roof and used the magnetic heels on his boots to walk along the side of the building in camouflage mode. He knelt and peeked through Gordon's window, pressing his fingertips to the glass to listen in as she spoke to her officers.

"—they already know we don't have the sheer manpower to put every political figure in this town under protective custody so we're going to have to make due. Prioritize the Governor and the Mayor and then trickle down from there. Research every single name we get to make sure there isn't someone working on the inside. If you even suspect them of working with these idiots, drag them in for questioning. I'll try to keep the feds off your backs in the meantime. We're on the clock, people. Let's catch these bastards and make sure that threat stays an idle one."

With that, her officers nodded and filed out of the office, already on their communication links spreading the word to their partners out in the field. Once everyone was gone, the former Batgirl leaned back in her chair and massaged the bridge of her nose. Then, she hit the button on her desk to open the window and turned to face her visitor.

"You got here faster than I thought."

Terry shrugged, keeping his tone light. "Just installed new jets."

She offered him a thin smile. "Nice. I suppose you have something for me."

He handed her a folder. "Everything the old man's got so far. Anything else we find, we'll share as long as you do the same."

She frowned. "I don't like answering to him now any more than I did back then."

She sighed. "But for the greater good, I'll put up with it."

"Thanks. What's our first move?"

"Right now, there's too much data to crunch. We have to find them all before we can do anything else, but since I'm already spread thin, I need you trying to track down where the broadcast came from, who gave it, and where the hell they are. Can you do that?"

Terry paused. "I can't…but I know who can."

"Then get moving. Inform me as soon as you find something. Good luck, kiddo."

"Ditto, Commish." He saluted her and slipped back out the window, heading back towards the batmobile. Once inside, Bruce greeted him.

"And just where do you think you're going?"

"Got a stop to make. Won't be long."

"You're not going to see her, are you?"

"And if I am?"

He heard an exasperated sigh leave the old man. "She's never going to back down if you ask her to help you."

"No choice. People might die. She's the best chance they have and you know it."

"Fine. But you know where I stand. Call me if she comes up with something."

He hung up and Terry fired up the jets, heading away from downtown.

* * *

"You're serious about this, aren't you?"

"Deadly."

"And what did the old man say?"

"He's not happy but he backed me up anyway."

"And if I do this, will you take me seriously for once?"

Terry inhaled, trying not to let the stress show in his tone. "One step at a time."

Max scowled, but he could tell the offer was too good to pass up. "Gee, I'm liable to drown in all this gratitude."

Her fingers flew across the keyboard, faster than he could follow. In an instant, she brought up the Kobra broadcast and downloaded it into one of the programs she used to decipher hidden sounds. He leaned across the back of her chair, pulling off the mask so he could see better.

"I've been running diagnostics since it happened. Figured whether you asked me or not, I'd help."

"Awful generous of you."

She rolled her eyes. "You're awful at flattery, McGinnis. Stick to sarcasm."

He smirked. "Yes, ma'am. What've you got so far?"

"Not much. The audio is pretty empty. This was professionally done and they didn't want any slipups. There's a green screen behind him and that won't tell us anything. Facial recognition is basically impossible through that stupid orange mask and that hood, but something might pop with his voice since he didn't alter it. It'll take time."

"C'mon, there's got to be something else."

"There is. Take a look."

She pointed to the corner of the video screen, across the Kobra spokesman's right shoulder. "See that? He may be in a cult, but he's obviously no seamstress. That's a store bought item. We might be able to get the serial number off the tag if we're lucky."

She expanded the video and magnified the tiny sliver of white, peering closer. "Looks like the last few digits are 023. That should narrow it down to a brand and from there, we can narrow the search."

"Got it. Cross reference the addresses of the stores with any Gotham criminals associated with Kobra and see if something comes up."

"Yep. Didn't think any of this detective stuff was sinking in with you," she added with a sly smirk.

"Careful. I'm liable to drown in all this gratitude."

She chuckled, hitting the Print key after her program finished running. "Here you go. That's our suspect."

"Peter Toben. Looks like he's gonna have company tonight."

Max crossed her arms, watching as he pulled the cowl back down. "I'll be expecting my compensation within the week, Mr. McGinnis."

"We'll talk. In the meantime, thanks for your help. I owe you one."

He leaned down and kissed her cheek, surprising her. He flashed her a grin before heading out the window and into the afternoon sun.

* * *

Peter Toben lived in the downtown slums of Gotham, where gang violence and drugs were as thick as the smoke billowing up from the factories surrounding the area. Barking dogs and unhappy babies cried out into the night when Terry flew down from his perch on the building across from his suspect's. He went into camouflage mode as he landed on the side of the wall, his breath hurried as he peered into the window. It gave him the view of a living room with a couch and a TV. The walls were bare and Toben was nowhere to be found.

"Anyone home?" Bruce asked.

"Not sure," Terry muttered, flicking out a claw to unlock the hinge. He slid the window up and crawled in, switching on his night vision to see better. The living room spilled into a kitchen and none of the lights seemed to be on. He began searching for any evidence of life but there were only old newspapers and magazines lying around. He flipped through a couple before noticing the similarities they held—faces cut out of them. Each issue had something to do with a local Gotham politician.

"Looks like he's definitely our guy. Better check the bedroom just in case."

He stepped towards that direction when the TV flickered on, blinding him momentarily. He shook his head, turning off the night vision to see the same masked and hooded man from the broadcast glaring at him through red lenses.

"Welcome home, Batman."

He froze, watching in horror as the man smirked. "I figured you'd be the one smart enough to notice the little clue I left you in my message. I doubt the police would catch on but I knew you would because you're no fool. That's exactly why I let you find us. You're a threat. If we want our plan to succeed, then one thing must be done first."

The window beside him slammed shut and a metal sheet slid down over it.

"You must die."

"Terry, get out of there!" Bruce shouted as the TV began to glow white, filling the room with a high pitched static noise. Terry ran for the window, slamming his fists against it but it didn't budge.

"It won't go!"

"Set a charge!"

"This is solid brick, there's no way for the charge to—"

"Do it!"

Gritting his teeth, Terry reached for a plastic explosive on his belt and set it for ten seconds, racing towards the other end of the apartment until he reached the front door. It too was locked and reinforced with steel, and there were no other windows in the apartment. He heard the last couple of beeps of the charge but before it could finish, the television exploded, causing a chain reaction to other bombs he knew had been planted in the walls. He hit the floor, crying out in pain as the percussive sound ripped through his ears and the heat slammed his body against the far wall.

He slumped to the floor, dazed, his ears ringing, his eyes tearing as smoke and fire engulfed the apartment once the blasts stopped.

"Terry, listen to me. You've got to get up. The suit can't protect you for long. Get back to the window. That's your only way out."

"Can't…I think…my arm's broken," he gasped out, coughing in between breaths. He strained to say more but then there was an awful, low creaking sound that grabbed his attention instead.

"Bruce…"

The old man's voice came out panicked. "The roof's about to cave in. Terry, get out of there now!"

Seconds after he spoke, the radio link went dead. Bruce stood in front of the monitor in a horrified stupor.

"Terry…"

* * *

**I know. I'm a sadist, right? Sorry to do that to you but I wanted to start this little journey off with a bang. I'm sorry for the long absence. I've been in and out of work and I'm writing novels for a living and it's hectic. Still, I watched "Final Cut" on the Hub today (God, I love that channel now) and it inspired me to take another run at a multi-chapter, eventual Terry/Max story. I've missed my tempestuous pair so strap in because you're in for yet another one of my shenanigan stories. I'll try to get it finished in a month's time so make sure you motivate me by hitting that Review and Favorite button. Thanks for sticking around and I hope you enjoy the story. See you on the pages.**

**Kyoko**


	2. Chapter 2

She had been nervously drumming her fingers on her desktop ever since he left, praying, hoping that the new Dark Knight would come up with his prey. She checked her watch again. He'd been gone for over an hour now. Why hadn't he checked in? Was he chasing Toben down?

Her phone rang and a burst of relief went through her chest. She answered immediately, not caring if she sounded a bit desperate.

"Yeah?"

"Max, get over to Toben's address right now."

Her blood ran cold. "Bruce? What's going on?"

"We don't have time for questions. Get over there as fast as you can and call me as soon as you do."

She leapt from her seat and threw on her tennis shoes, her hands shaking as she tucked her keys in her pocket and practically rocketed out the door. Thankfully, her sister had left her the car this week so she threw herself in it and drove through downtown, blowing through yellow lights and probably seeming like a complete madwoman to anyone she passed. Bruce had never given her a direct order before. Ever. Something was definitely wrong.

When she turned the corner to Toben's street, she almost cried out in horror. Plumes of smoke billowed upward from the building. Several floors had caught fire and the building was being evacuated of its occupants, none of which were Terry.

She parked across the street and fumbled with her phone, dialing Bruce's number. "I'm here. What do you need me to do?"

"I'm sending the batmobile to the alley on your left side. Go into it and wait."

She raced down the empty alley, her sneakers slapping and squeaking against the concrete, and trained her eyes up at the night sky. Seconds later, the batmobile veered into sight and she stepped back as it came to rest in front of her.

"What now?"

The hood slid back, exposing the bright red lights at the controls. "Get in."

She climbed inside and it immediately shut behind her. "There should be a back up oxygen mask and an earpiece beneath the seat. Put them on."

She reached beneath her feet and felt for them, coming up with a round black mask that clipped in the back and a tiny white receiver. A moment later, the jet roared to life and lifted her into the air, heading towards the burning building.

"The wall was too thick to break open with a blast so you're going in through the roof. Terry should be near the front door but he's unconscious and his arm might be broken. Get to him and get him in jet. Do it as quickly as possible. The mask will only hold for so long."

She rubbed her sweaty palms on the legs of her jeans as the batmobile hovered over the building, allowing her to see the damage. Part of the roof caved in and it was nearly impossible to see well through all the smoke but she spotted the front door. The car hood opened and she climbed onto the side, preparing to jump. She spotted a section of carpet not devoured by the fire yet and leapt, landing hard and rolling.

Heat ate at her skin as she stood up, whipping her head around and squinting in the mayhem to locate her best friend. She saw a huge pile of rubble behind her and then noticed something black. An arm.

"Terry!" she ran to him, falling to her knees and grabbing the nearest slab of concrete. She shoved several of them away until she had unburied his upper torso, but his legs were trapped underneath a larger one. She glanced about until she found a large wooden beam that had once been part of a bookshelf and shoved it underneath the slab. She wedged it and pushed with all her might, ignoring the pain in her arms and the sweat drenching every inch of her body. She pushed harder still and the slab cracked in half, sliding to the floor beside them.

She dropped the beam and wrapped her arms around Terry's broad shoulders, hauling him to her side. She touched the link in her ear.

"I've got him."

"I'm lowering the cable now."

The jet hovered over her head and a grey metal cable with clamps exited the vehicle. She struggled to line his shoulders up with it but soon it took hold of him and she held on tight as it reeled them back into the batmobile. The seat slid back and the cable deposited him on the chair. She squeezed in behind it, ripping off her mask, and Bruce spoke once more.

"It's heading for here. Check his pulse and his vitals in the meantime."

She peeled off his mask and touched his neck. "It's fast and weak, but he's got a pulse. He's breathing on his own but just barely."

"Keep a close eye out. It should only take five minutes to return to the cave so hold on."

The batmobile lurched forward, slicing through the air like a sword. She nearly bowled over, clutching the back of the seat to keep her balance. The city skyline became nothing but a red and black blur on either side of the windows. She kept her eyes on her unmoving friend, fighting back tears as his body swayed limp and lifeless with the vehicle's movements.

"You'd better be alright, you arrogant son of a bitch," she whispered, pressing her forehead to his and gently stroking his cheek.

True to Bruce's word, the jet reached the cave in five minutes exactly. Part of her wanted to feel elated that she had finally reached her version of New Mecca but the circumstances were so grim that she knew she'd never truly appreciate it now. The top opened and she heaved the unconscious hero out of his seat, using every last bit of her strength to lay him out on the stretcher Bruce had wheeled over to the launch pad.

"Have you called a doctor?" she asked as she pushed him towards the medical area of the cave as Bruce led the way.

"No. I called a friend. She'll be here any minute. Get him started on the oxygen machine."

She turned the knob on the oxygen tank next to the computer and carefully lowered the mouthpiece over Terry's face, relieved as she saw the occasional cloud of mist indicating that he was still breathing. Max wrapped her arms around her stomach, hoping the old man wouldn't see how hard her hands were shaking as she stared at her friend.

Footsteps echoed through the dark space and a blonde woman in her late forties appeared with a large brown leather bag clutched in one fist. "Got here as soon as I could. How is he?"

Bruce's jaw clenched. "Bad."

She gave him a brief, clinical look over. "The arm's definitely broken. He's breathed in quite a lot of smoke too but he's not in critical condition. Give me a couple hours and I'll get him sorted out."

Bruce nodded and then glanced at Max, who hadn't moved an inch since she laid Terry on the stretcher. She chewed her bottom lip over and over again, her dark eyes locked on Terry's pale face as if searching for any signs of life.

"Max."

"What?" she asked hoarsely.

"There's nothing else we can do right now. Let her work."

She shook her head. "I should be here. I should be here when he wakes up."

"That won't be for hours."

"I don't care."

Bruce sighed. "I'll be upstairs. Don't give her any trouble in the meantime."

The old man turned and shuffled towards the winding staircase leading back up to the mansion. She heard a soft whimpering sound and turned her head, finally noticing the midnight black Great Dane sitting to her right with its eyes also fixed on Terry. She sat down in Bruce's oversized chair and laid one hand on the dog's head, scratching between its ears until the whimpers died down.

It was at least an hour before she realized her cheeks were soaking wet.

* * *

"He's exhausted and banged up pretty badly. Are you sure you want to wait?"

Max nodded. The doctor sighed and reached into her bag yet again. To her surprise, Max found herself draped in a soft blue blanket that matched the one pulled over Terry's body. The doctor smiled and rested a hand on her shoulder.

"The cave's awful drafty at night. Take care of yourself. He'll be alright."

She nodded and the doctor left after taking a brief moment to pet Ace. Max huddled in the chair and continued watching Terry like a hawk, looking for any change in his blank facial expression.

Two hours slipped by. Max felt exhaustion setting in but stubbornly refused to go upstairs. Instead, she turned her attention to the mausoleum around her, trying to distract herself from her worried thoughts. She made a game of naming all the infamous villains whose outfits Bruce had collected—the Riddler, Scarface, Harley Quinn, Mr. Freeze—and tried to remember the stories attached to them. Though the giant penny had her completely stumped.

Her gaze returned to full front when the Great Dane yawned and laid his large head on her right knee, licking his chops. She almost smiled. She was most certainly a cat person but he seemed to be a good companion so far.

"Guess you're the Bat-dog I've been hearing so much about. Thought you'd be scarier," she mused, continuing to stroke the spot between his ears that he seemed to like.

"You should see him go after a squirrel."

A weak, muffled, voice croaked, alarming her when she realized it was Terry. She leapt to her feet and hurried over to his side. His eyes were half-lidded but definitely open.

"God, Ter, how long have you been awake?"

"Just a minute or so."

"Are you in any pain?"

He gave a faint shake of his head. "Pain killer's working. Can't feel anything."

He tilted his face, glancing the sling on his right arm. "Is it broken?"

"Yeah," she said in a soft tone. "Sorry."

"Don't be."

"No, I should be. I gave you that address. This is my fault."

His brow furrowed and he took a deeper breath in order to sound firmer. "Not your fault."

"You know it is."

He reached up and pulled down the mask, frowning. "Did you murder my Dad?"

Her eyes widened. "What? No."

"Did you tell me to act like a jerk before he died?"

"No."

"Then this isn't your fault. I decided to become Batman. This kind of stuff comes with the territory. Don't blame yourself or I'll have to do something awful to you once I'm better like make you fail a test or tell everyone at school that I'm in love with you."

She choked on a small laugh. "Jackass."

He smirked. "That's what I thought."

He fell into a short bout of coughs and she helped him pull the mask back on. "You shouldn't be talking. Doc said you need rest for at least a day."

"Not gonna happen. We've only got a day to find out Kobra's target," he said in a weary voice. "A nap's all I can afford right now."

At last, a warm streak of anger swam through her. "You're not serious."

"Yes, I am."

"What are you gonna do, Ter? Hobble your way out there? You can't even stand up."

"Don't have a choice, Max. People are gonna die."

"People die every day. And you're going to be one of them if you keep at it."

"There isn't anyone else. I have to do it."

"That's not true."

He gave her a confused look. She crossed her arms. "Send me instead."

"Max, no."

"You need my help. You know it."

"You're not ready."

"I'm not the one lying on a stretcher with a broken arm."

"You haven't been trained. Not letting you do this."

She laid one hand on the stretcher and leaned over him, her brown eyes ablaze. "Letting me? I just saved your sorry ass and you're not going to 'let' me stop Kobra? Are you really that much of a sexist, ungrateful dreg or am I imagining it?"

He glared at her then. "Not sexist. Experienced. This is too much for you to handle."

"Then train me. Get me ready. Because it's going to take a month at the least for that arm to heal and you don't have any other choice."

"Bruce—"

"—will also bitch and moan but he'll know I'm right too. Would you rather let all those people die? Is it really so hard to believe in me?"

He didn't say anything and it killed her. She wanted to grab his shoulders and shake them until his brains fell out because he was being an irrational, overprotective jackass and she didn't know why. He was supposed to be the one who had faith in her when others didn't. That, to her, was a best friend. Not the stubborn boy lying in front of her.

He closed his eyes again. "We'll talk about this later. Get some rest upstairs."

"No," she said, turning her back on him. "I'm done taking orders from you, McGinnis. Don't call me unless you have something better to say."

He called her name once, twice, but she ignored him, allowing herself to be swallowed in the darkness as she walked away.

* * *

**Honestly, I'm probably going to write and post most of the beginning tonight because it's all pouring out of my head at once. Hope you don't mind me flooding your inboxes. Hope you're enjoying things so far and please don't forget to review. I could use the support. **

**Kyoko**


	3. Chapter 3

**A brief disclaimer: For the record, I'm not trying to write this story with the perspective of "Max is right, Terry is wrong." I'm presenting both sides of the argument as the characters perceive them and then showing the results accordingly. Both of them are stubborn teenagers and both of them want to do the right thing, but the way in which they're going about it is what causes the conflict. This is actually why I wanted to write a story focusing on this issue. In the show, Bruce and Terry kept Max on the bench for good reason, but I didn't like that they wouldn't at least acknowledge the fact that she is a smart, capable young woman who may EVENTUALLY have been ready to be part of the Batclan. **

**Just wanted to clear that up based on an Anon review I got this morning. Carry on, my wayward sons and daughters.**

* * *

Max didn't remember the ride home. She'd been seeing red the whole time, which wasn't great for getting through traffic, but she didn't care. She couldn't believe what she'd heard. Maybe his brain was just oxygen-deprived and he didn't realize what he was saying. What he was implying. What he was omitting.

She turned the corner of the hallway leading to her apartment and stopped, her jaw dropping at whom she found standing by the doorway.

"Commissioner Gordon?"

The older woman smiled. "You must Max. Good to meet you."

The pink-haired hacker hurried over, shaking her hand. "Same, but…what are you doing here?"

"The old man called and told me what happened. How is Terry?"

She winced, looking down at her shoes. "Not good. He's pretty weak right now."

"But still stubborn, I take it?"

Max snorted. "You have no idea."

"Oh, maybe I do. Let me guess. You offered to take his place while that arm heals and he said no. Said you weren't ready. Said he had to be the one to stop Kobra."

She glanced upward, once again surprised. "Yeah. How'd you—"

"They have their differences, but believe me, Terry and Bruce are cut from the same cloth. If you're part of their inner circle, they'll make damn sure you stay safe whether you want to or not."

"I'm glad someone else understands but I've got to ask…why'd you want to meet me? Especially now, with less than a day to the attack?"

"Bruce told me about how you found Peter Toben. Even though it was a trap, that was good work. I thought I'd touch base with you. You've got great skills, kid. Skills that might help us stop these bastards."

Max eyed her, coming to a sudden realization. "Are you saying you think I can do this?"

"I've had my eye on you for a while, in the background, of course. You're smart. Smarter than Terry, almost smarter than Bruce. You've got a good head on your shoulders and I can tell you genuinely give a damn. They may not like it and they may not want it to happen, but we don't have time for doubts. I'd like you to work with my taskforce and help us track down Kobra."

She handed the girl a card. "I can be reached at this number. Take some time. Maybe a couple of hours. Think about it. If you think you can handle it, call me. I'd much rather you operate inside of the law than working with a couple of hardheaded vigilantes."

With that, Gordon nodded to her and headed down the hallway, disappearing around the corner. Max watched her go, her mind whirling a mile and minute. Had that really happened? Did the freaking former Batgirl just ask for her help?

She let out a shaky breath, digging for her keys. "I must be losing my mind."

* * *

The faint dripping of water was a constant sound in the cave, one that Terry had gotten used to on some level. He drifted in and out of a shallow sleep as he lay on the cot, unsure of how much time was passing before his drug-addled eyes. When he was awake, all he could think about was Max. He replayed their argument a hundred times, wishing he'd made his point better, wishing she hadn't been so headstrong, wishing he could just tell her the truth and she'd back off. Not that he even really knew what the truth was nor did he understand it. To him, it was a lump in his chest that didn't go away. Something heavy and rotten and uncompromising. He couldn't let her do this. He couldn't let her into his world for real. He just couldn't.

Finally, he knew he had been lying down for too long so he took a deep breath and pushed upward with his good arm. His ribs stung and his back ached, but he sat up regardless and pulled off the uncomfortable mask that had left little lines indented in his cheek. He always hated these things. Too constricting, and that was coming from a guy who wore a full cowl.

Ace barked once and went over to him, sniffing his legs as he lowered them to the floor. He still smelled like smoke all over and the dog seemed unhappy with it. He smiled and rubbed the top of the Great Dane's head.

"Hope you're doing better than I am, mutt."

Ace licked his palm, making a keening sound. Terry sighed. "I know. It's not like I wanted to make her mad at me."

The dog tilted its head. "Okay, maybe I did because I wanted her to go home. She shouldn't be waiting up for me anyway. It's not good for her."

He let out a hollow laugh, glancing at his broken arm. "Not that would know what is."

He stood up. Took a step. Fell, hard. He managed to catch himself with his left arm but the ground was cold and hard and sent pain shooting through his veins like acid. He lay there with his forehead pressed against it, cursing his body with all his might. Ace whined, galloping towards the stairs to call for help.

"I'm fine, mutt," Terry grumbled, pushing up with his left arm. "Calm down."

"You're a bad liar." Terry looked up to see Bruce appear from the direction of the stairs, his face unnervingly placid. He set his cane aside and helped the boy up, leaning him against the cot until he steadied himself.

"Sorry. Never picked up on that habit, I guess."

"Give it time. Where's the girl?"

"She left."

Bruce eyed his protégée. "What happened?"

"The usual. She wants to get more involved and I said no. Don't tell me you disagree."

"She handled herself well. Saved your life."

"I hear a 'but' coming."

"But she's still not ready. She hasn't seen enough yet. You did the right thing."

"Really? Then why do I feel so lousy?"

"Because that's what telling the truth feels like. You'll get used to it."

"That's nice but we still have a problem. I've got a broken arm. I can't stop Kobra like this. Tell me you have some sort of back up plan."

"Working on it. In the meantime, sit. You're wasting energy."

Terry lowered himself to the cot and accepted the hot tea the old man handed him a moment later. He sipped it, keeping his eyes low.

"So are you gonna lay into me or not?"

"For what?" Bruce asked, taking a seat at the computer.

"Screwing up. Putting her in the line of fire, literally. Getting my arm busted during a crisis."

"I told you before that blaming's not productive. You should listen. Besides, we have other options."

"Like?"

"I've been working on a prototype. Something we control that can be a second pair of hands when things get too hectic. No artificial intelligence so there's no chance of it becoming self-aware. It'll have the same abilities as you but without the risk."

"How soon could you have it running?"

"A week, at the most."

"What about tonight? The Mayor's going to have to make an announcement."

"We'll keep working on the video. Something will turn up."

"And if it doesn't?"

He met Terry's gaze. "It will."

"I hope you're right, old man."

* * *

For the first time in her life, Max had no answers.

She had tried every trick she knew—every algorithm, every tip, every hack, every single thing her ridiculously over-packed and overqualified laptop could handle and still she was staring a great big heap of nothing. No leads. The computer's glowing screen seemed to grin up at her mockingly, taunting her for not being smart enough to stop Kobra.

Disgusted, she tossed the laptop aside and stood, pacing back and forth in her room, scratching her bright pink hair as if it could help her uncover an idea. Her cell phone rang in the middle of her brooding session and she checked it. Terry's phone number. She hit 'Ignore' and tossed the phone back down. She didn't want his apology or his guilt trip. She'd heard it all before. Barbara had been right. He did care but his concern is what drove her so insane to begin with. Why was it okay for him to throw himself to the dragon and leave her up in the tower?

After a while, the room felt too stuffy so Max climbed out the window and onto the fire escape. She plopped down and dangled her long legs between the railings, leaning her forehead against the ice cold metal. It cooled her overheated forehead somewhat.

She dug Gordon's card out of her pocket, staring down at it. As angry as she was at Terry for not taking her seriously, she had to admit she felt intimidated by the Commissioner's offer. It wasn't every day that the head of Gotham's police department thought she could help. It was funny. Part of her had wished that one day she would adopt the mantle of Batgirl, after she'd finally proven her worth to Terry and Bruce. She'd read up on the amazing exploits of Gordon's youth, taking down the baddest of the rogue's gallery, everyone from Clayface to Black Mask to Scarface. She remembered being a little girl playing in her room by herself with her blanket tied around her shoulders, promising her teddy bear she'd save him from harm.

A fond smile touched the girl's lips. If only it were that simple.

A sharp beeping sound caught her ear and she craned her neck, peeking back inside her room. Her laptop.

She scrambled to her feet and hurried over to the bed, turning the computer towards her. One of her programs indicated that there was a common code used in the transmission Kobra had used to hijack the airwaves. In fact, it was being used at that very second sixteen blocks from her current location.

Max dialed Gordon's number, drumming her fingers impatiently as it rang.

"Gordon?"

"I think I've got something. There's a signal coming from West Lannister Street that matches the one used during Kobra's message. Apartment 4C."

"Got it. I'll have one of my people take a look. Thanks for the tip, kid."

The Commissioner hung up and Max's heart nearly thumped right out of her chest. She had finally done something right, something that would get her respect, something that would make someone take her seriously for once.

She thought about calling the old man to keep him updated but a sour expression overtook her face. Sure, it was Terry who had upset her but she wasn't really in the mood to talk to either of them. Part of her knew she was being unreasonable but stubbornness had always been her middle name.

Her laptop beeped again and she checked it, this time finding that while Peter Toben was most likely just an alias created for the false tip, there was some sort of activity going on with that name. Someone had used his credit card at a gas station less than a block away.

Max grabbed her phone again but stopped as she looked at the time. Not long before their 24 hour window was up. Gordon's men were already spread thin and there was no guarantee that this was a lead. Plus, the last thing she'd found was a trap. What if this was one too?

She donned her jacket and slipped the phone in the pocket, setting her jaw. Just a quick, simple tailing. If it turned out to be him, she could call and get the guy arrested. If she could do this one thing right, maybe things would change for the better.

Max left the apartment and went by foot to the gas station, staying towards the opposite end of the street and casually observing the place. There weren't many people inside due to the late hour—a couple of teenagers, a truck driver, and guy with a briefcase. She took note of the man with the briefcase as she realized he was about the right height and weight of the mysterious Kobra spokesman. He'd bought a pack of cigarettes and was walking out, heading north. She let him cross a street first before starting after him, making sure to stay well behind his field of vision.

The man walked another four blocks while he smoked, never displaying any suspicious behavior other than being a bit of a litterbug with his cigarette butts. He didn't meet with anyone in the street, he didn't make a call, and he didn't even seem all that shifty. She began to think that she'd gotten the wrong guy until he turned into an alley, disappearing from view. Cursing under her breath, Max hurried across the street and flattened herself against the brick wall, tilting her face until only she could see around the corner. Darkness greeted her. Where the hell had he gone?

She waited a minute or so and then slipped into the alleyway, careful not to kick over any of the cans littering the filthy space. She snuck all the way past the dumpsters and found where it let out—into the back of an apartment complex. Still no sign of him. She'd definitely blown her chance to find him. Great.

"Slaggit!" She kicked a small cardboard box against the wall in frustration. It bounced off of something. She gave a start, walking closer and finding that the trenchcoat and suit the man had been wearing. A confused look slid across her face. Was there now a blond guy streaking through the streets of Gotham?

She heard a voice by the door of the apartment across the way—a teenager on her cell phone. Normally, Max wouldn't have cared but her conversation was unusual.

"I know, right? I told the guy that I thought they didn't even deliver pizzas this late but he swore up and down that he had to get to Room 1501 before his thirty minutes were up and the pizza would be free. So I buzzed him in. Weird, though. Wonder why he had a briefcase with him?"

Max jumped to her feet and ran to the door, pushing past the girl to get into the apartment. The door led straight into a stairwell, meaning he'd have a head start on her unless he took the elevator. She raced up the stairs, praying her instincts were wrong but the tight knot in her gut told her otherwise.

She burst through the door on the fifth floor where the rooms were oddly labeled in the 1500's, searching desperately for room 1501. She fumbled for the mace in her pocket, sidling up to the door and trying the knob. Unlocked.

"Shit," she breathed, easing the door open. The room before her was a den and the TV was on some sort of Adult Swim programming, filling the dark space with a creepy white light. She edged around the corner, finding the couch vacant, straining to hear anything unusual. She heard the sound of a tea kettle whistling and walked into the kitchen, gasping as she saw the blond man pinning an elderly woman against the far wall, his huge hands wrapped around her neck.

"Let her go!" Max shouted, getting his attention. As soon as he turned, she sprayed him with the mace and he screamed, falling back against the fridge with his hands over his face. The woman let out a shaking gasp, collapsing to the floor and coughing, but at least she was alive.

"You little bitch!" the man hissed, tears streaming from his eyes as he lurched for Max. She ducked beneath his hands and kicked him in the stomach, keeping him at arms' length, but she knew he could kill her if he got close enough. He recovered quickly, throwing blind haymakers at her that she just barely dodged. The kitchen was too narrow to give her enough space to move so she tried to maneuver towards the den but he cut her off. He kicked her legs out from under her and she hit the floor, crying out in pain. He was on her in an instant, his hands wrapped around her throat.

She kneed him in the side again and again, clawing at his arms enough to draw blood, but he wouldn't let go. She had only about a minute of air left and panic gripped her. Her mind raced, trying to think of something, anything, but there was no one to help her.

She reached up towards the oven, her fingers finding the handle, and slammed the top of the oven door against his temple. It hit him hard enough that he fell to the side, nursing the wound, and it gave Max the couple of seconds she needed to regroup.

She grabbed the kettle on the stove and dumped the boiling water right on his face. He shrieked and hit the floor, writhing. Max kicked him square in the forehead and he finally went out like a light, slumping motionless to the floor.

The pink-haired girl then collapsed against the far wall, her fingers trembling as she touched her wounded throat, realizing that she had just escaped a grisly death. She checked the elderly woman's pulse, relieved to find that she was alive, and dialed the Commissioner's number.

"Gordon. I've got something."

"What?"

"Peter Toben."

* * *

**So the story's taking a weird turn in my head and I'm also working full time so I might've accidentally lied about flooding your Inbox. However, I will continue working on this as many days of the week as I can. I'll try and do a chapter a week and see how that goes. Savvy? Thanks for the reviews so far and please be patient with me. The shippy stuff is on its way.**

**Kyoko**


	4. Chapter 4

Max's hands were shaking. She hated it. A lot.

The flashing lights from the police cars parked nearby made her wince and shift in her seat on the edge of the second ambulance. The first one had hauled the old woman to the hospital and from the looks of things she'd make it. The cops arrived a little later because they had been on a manhunt for members of Kobra, but they'd taken her statement and told her to wait for Gordon to show. Not that Max was looking forward to it.

The paramedics took a look at her throat and told her it would need to stay iced for a day or two but there was no permanent damage. It hurt to speak so they gave her a mild painkiller to take once a day for two weeks or until it stopped. She'd have to wear a turtleneck at school. A ring of bruises had already begun to show along her dark skin and she didn't want any of her friends to freak out when they saw them. Especially Terry.

The high-pitched whoop of a siren jolted her out of her thoughts. She looked up to see Commissioner Gordon striding towards her from her car, taking a deep breath as she noticed the steely glare in the older woman's eyes.

"What in God's name were you thinking going after him by yourself?"

"It wasn't like that—"

"Please tell me what it was like, then."

"I didn't want to call it in unless it was a real threat," Max explained. "I already sent Batman out on a wild goose chase and I knew your officers had their hands full. I didn't think anything was going to happen."

"You were reckless. You put yourself right in harm's way."

"And I also saved Mrs. Amanda Greene's life," the girl finished, sending the Commissioner a firm look.

Gordon sighed, massaging her temple. "The Mayor is answering Kobra's broadcast in less than an hour. Am I to assume you know why they targeted her?"

"She's the grandmother of Bishop Greene, the superintendent of our school. He's up for reelection next month."

Gordon frowned. "Why start with such a small fry?"

"I figured it's a Domino effect. Kill someone connected to a school and parents get scared. Kids get scared. That makes everyone harder to control. They'll probably work their way up to the Mayor or the D.A."

"I've got the D.A. covered," Gordon said with a fond smirk. "But the Mayor's already under enough protection. We're going to need more names."

"I know. I'll work on it."

In an instant, the cold look was back in the Commissioner's eyes. "You're not doing anything but going home and getting some rest. If you step one foot out of that apartment in the next 24 hours, I'm hauling you in for reckless endangerment."

Max's jaw dropped. "Commissioner—"

"You heard me, young lady. I appreciate that you saved that woman's life but you almost got yourself killed. Think about that for a second. What if you hadn't stopped him? How would that make Terry feel? The kid's got enough on his plate already."

Max took a deep breath, calming herself. "Are you saying I'm off the case?"

"You are temporarily. If you find anything, you call me. I don't care how small."

She snapped her fingers, getting the attention of a nearby officer. "Escort this young lady back to her home and make sure she stays there."

"Yes, ma'am."

Max said nothing, obediently letting the officer take her back to her apartment. When she was safely shut inside her bedroom with the lights off and no one around, she allowed a single tear to fall, hidden from all but herself.

* * *

"Citizens of Gotham…I want you all to know that we do not negotiate with terrorists. We will not let anyone make threats to the people we hold dear. We will not tolerate any force who believes they are above the law and can dictate what our government does. This Kobra organization needs to understand one thing. We will find them and they will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. That is my solemn oath as Mayor and as a proud citizen of Gotham City. God bless you all."

Bruce hit the Mute button on the computer. Terry spoke up first. "That went well."

"It's as expected. The government doesn't answer to criminals. Not the masked kind, anyway."

Terry smirked. "Point taken. Should I be worried that the Commish hasn't called back yet?"

"No. I have a hunch about what she's up to. A couple of hours ago, the police apprehended the man they suspect is Peter Toben."

Terry's eyes widened. "So he's at the precinct?"

Bruce nodded. "He hasn't been to interrogation yet. They're treating him for some bad facial burns that happened shortly before he was arrested. It'll be another day before they get some answers out of him."

Bruce checked his watch. "Speaking of which, it's almost six. You need to get home."

Terry groaned, glancing at the fresh cast on his arm. The doctor stopped by earlier to fix him up and he already hated his new accessory. It itched and rubbed against his side at odd angles. "My Mom's gonna freak when she sees this."

"You'll get over it. Be good to her. You only get one mother."

"I know. Can you call a taxi for me at this hour? Can't ride a motorcycle with a broken arm."

Bruce smirked, grabbing the phone. "You'd be surprised."

* * *

Terry spent the entirety of his Sunday in his room being fussed over by his mother. He told her he'd been mugged on the way home from Bruce's place and that he'd already filed a police report, but Mary McGinnis was all up in arms, so to speak. It took him hours to calm her down and insist that he was fine and he'd heal quickly. Matt took the whole thing in stride, like most eight-year-old boys would, asking for the grisly details and how many guys it took to break his arm. Terry made up the most brutal story he could think of to entertain the boy, slightly proud that he wasn't upset because he knew his older brother could take care of himself.

Sunday night, he checked his messages and found nothing from Max. He called once more but she didn't pick up and he resisted the urge to kick himself. Tomorrow would have to be his day to make it up to her. That was what best friends did, after all.

The entire school was buzzing about the Kobra broadcast when he arrived Monday morning. He wasn't surprised. Anything big in the news was teen gossip, especially if it smacked of anarchy or organized crime. He didn't pay them much attention aside from telling the same story about his broken arm because he was so preoccupied looking for Max. However, first period rolled around and she wasn't there. Worry ate through him like acid. Why wouldn't she show? Max had a damn near perfect record for attendance. She was valedictorian and took it rather seriously. Something was up.

He took a cab to her place that afternoon, promising Bruce he'd be over as soon as he checked on her. He knocked on her door for five minutes straight, getting more and more anxious when she didn't answer. He had leaned back, contemplating breaking it down when the door opened and a rather irritated Max appeared.

"What are you doing here?" she sneered.

"You weren't in school today."

"So?"

Terry frowned. "I got worried."

She rolled her eyes. "Clearly. I'm feeling under the weather today, alright? Thanks for stopping by."

She started to shut the door but he caught it, giving her a look. "I know you're mad at me but could you at least give me a chance to apologize?"

She stared at him. He could tell there were two parts of her warring inside her head—the reasonable best friend and the saucy, independent girl. In the end, she sighed and stepped aside to let him in.

"Fine. Make it quick."

He walked in, finally taking notice of the fact that she had a sweater on over a pair of boxer shorts. "What's with the get up?"

"I told you I'm not feeling well. Might be catching a cold," she said, padding over to the kitchen to make a snack. He leaned against the counter, watching her gather a couple of bowls from the cabinet.

"What'd your mom say when you came home looking like that?"

Terry snorted. "She tried to quarantine me for a whole week. It took me forever to convince her to let me go to class today."

"Terry McGinnis voluntarily going to school? Who are you?" she said and the teasing tone made him feel a little better.

"I know, right? But if it helps I only went because I thought you were gonna be there."

She hesitated, glancing at him over her shoulder. "You're not just saying that, are you?"

He shook his head. She eyed him, setting the box of cereal between them and then sitting down. "Alright. Let's hear it."

Terry took a deep breath, meeting her gaze. "I wasn't trying to be ungrateful, Max. I wouldn't be where I am without you. You saved my life. I can't begin to thank you for that, or for any of the other stuff you do for me, whether I ask for it or not. You're always there for me and I value that more than you know."

He paused, hardening his tone. "But that's also why I don't want to bring you in any further. You're too smart to get mixed up in this business. You've got a future. You've got a life. This city hasn't taken anything from you yet and I want to keep it that way. I know who I am, Max. I'm living on borrowed time. If my dad hadn't died, I'd have ended up some punk lying dead in a gutter somewhere. Being Batman is all I have left. It's not just a job, it's a calling. I think it's a call you shouldn't have to answer."

"So, what then? Do I have to wait for someone to murder my mom or my sister before I qualify for your so-called calling?"

Terry sighed. "That's not what I meant."

"Then just say it, Terry. Why can you handle this and I can't?"

"Because I've seen people die!"

Max fell silent, her brown eyes widened at his frustrated tone. "Max, I haven't told you even half of the horrible things I've seen being Batman. I don't want that for you. I don't want you to have nightmares. I don't want you to have broken bones and cracked ribs and bad grades and no dates and no life. One of us has to make it out of this mess alive and I want that to be you. Do you understand me?"

She swallowed hard, staring at him as if seeing him for the first time. She'd been wrong. She had underestimated him. It wasn't that he was overprotective. He was in pain. To him, there was nothing other than his cowl. He didn't see the light at the end of the tunnel, not for him anyway. Yet he saw hers and that surprised her more than anything else.

"I understand," Max said, her voice husky. "But there's something you need to understand. Even if you don't let me in, I'm still going to be part of your world. I'm still going to help you no matter what. My mom's not here and my sister's not here so you and that stubborn old man and that dog are all I have too, okay?"

He nodded. She smiled at him, slightly vindicated that the air between them was clearer. She cleared her throat, getting up to find the milk.

"So…2% or Skim?"

* * *

Commissioner Gordon was not a terribly patient woman. It had taken nearly all of her will power to stay away from her prime suspect for the recommended time. Every criminal was different when it came to interrogation. The gangsters always needed enough time to become skittish and worry that their colleagues would think they talked to the cops. The Jokerz crumbled quickly under a decent bad cop routine. White collar criminals were tougher to handle and she suspected Toben was of that particular set so she left him in the interrogation room for as long as she could stand it.

She flipped through his file as she stood at the door, nodding to the officer who had been watching over him so far. "How's his demeanor?"

"A bit ornery in the last hour. Otherwise, he's relatively calm."

Gordon nodded. "Alright. I'll try to make this quick. Hold my calls."

"Yes, ma'am."

She pressed her palm to the reader and the door slid open. She walked into the harsh light, tucking her hands into her pockets.

Toben was a mess. His face was wrapped in bandages and she could see splotches of swollen red skin in the gaps. The only truly exposed area were his dark brown eyes, almost like black pits in his skull. He watched her walk over to the table, choosing to stand rather than sit.

"Mr. Toben, I'm Commissioner Barbara Gordon of the Gotham Police Department."

"I know who you are," he said in a quiet voice.

"Good. Then you know I don't like to waste time."

"Only when it suits you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He let out a small disapproving hiss. "You left me in here for four hours. I should have gotten the right to legal counsel but you want me to feel uneasy so you withheld it. Oldest trick in the book, lady."

Gordon tossed the folder on the table. "I'm not surprised you know my methods. You've got priors, Mr. Toben. Particularly arson and aggravated assault. Your fancy lawyer's managed to keep you out of jail so far but I have an eyewitness who saw you attempting to murder Mrs. Greene. That's a smoking gun."

She flattened her hands on the table. "So if you want to avoid the maximum sentence, you'd better tell me something about Kobra that I don't know."

He stared at her, seeming oddly like the Mummy from those old Stephen Sommer flicks she watched as a kid. All empty space and arrogance and death. "You're too late, Commissioner. You may have had an Ace up your sleeve with that pink-haired pixie, but that's not enough. You're all going to burn for this and I can't wait to see it firsthand."

She clenched her jaw, forcing out another question. "Mr. Toben, are you the man who broadcasted the message or not?"

"You're a smart woman. Figure it out."

"Oh, believe me, I will. I've already put a lot together."

The first sign of unease crept into his voice in the form of disbelief. "Like what?"

"You're not the man who wrote that speech. You're an errand boy. My guess is they recruited you because you're small time and hard to find. Mercenaries and assassins are expensive and make a bigger splash when they hit town. They wanted someone low on the totem pole who would just take the money and do whatever they say. They're using you. A pawn. A little guppie in a sad little pond."

His misshapen lips twisted into a frown. Gordon latched onto the expression with gusto. "And trust me, when they're done with you, you'll be next. Kobra never leaves loose ends. But you already know that, don't you?"

"Are you threatening me, Commissioner?"

She smirked. "No point threatening a dead man."

He slammed his hands on the table, snarling. "I want my lawyer!"

"And people in ice water want hell," she replied without blinking. "Give me a name and I'll call your fancy lawyer."

"You can't keep me here forever."

"Wasn't intending to. Just until Kobra knows you're in here and they assume you're cooperating, which makes you a liability. You don't have to give me a name, Mr. Toben. I'll get a name when they send someone to finish you off."

She turned her back on him, heading towards the door. She was almost to it when he finally called out to her.

"Fine. You want a name?"

She angled her face to show the profile, lifting her eyebrow. "Hugh Ackerman. That was my next target."

She smiled then. "Thank you for your cooperation."

Gordon exited, dialing her lieutenant. "Run the name Hugh Ackerman through our database. I want to know who he is and where he is right this second."

"I'm in the tech lab now, hold on." She heard frantic typing and beeping underneath the sound of his heavy breathing.

"Got it. He's head of the Municipal Code Enforcement Board. He lives on the upper east side. Sending uniforms in now. ETA ten minutes."

"Copy that."

She paced the length of the hallway, hands tucked behind her back, resisting the urge to hop into her own squad car and haul ass across town to see for herself. Part of her regretted no longer being a masked vigilante because there were less rules and regulations to follow. Back then, all that had mattered was saving people. Neatness didn't count for much.

At last, her phone rang once more and she answered.

"You found him?"

"Yes."

"Good. Bring him in. I want all of his contacts, his staff, and his family put under surveillance and questioned just to be sure there aren't any—"

"Gordon."

"What?"

"He's dead."

* * *

**DUN DUN DUNNNNN! Hit that Review button and show me you best Dramatic Chipmunk Face. **

**Kyoko**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: So I am a silly person and kept forgetting which arm Terry broke. I edited Chapter 2 to avoid confusion. He broke his right arm, not his left. Sorry if that threw anyone off. I am an absent minded writer. Proceed.**

* * *

_"Citizens of Gotham, the Kobra has struck. Hugh Ackerman is dead. Your government decided that it wanted to be defiant and so now our plan has been put into action. Starting today, we will claim one victim a week until this city recognizes our power and our cause. If you truly want your families to be safe, you will send a message to your leaders to surrender. Otherwise, our reign of terror will continue. No one is safe. Kobra will poison Gotham's veins until nothing is left._"

Bruce hit the Mute button, his upper lip curling with disgust as the broadcast switched back to the noticeably uncomfortable newscasters. "Cowards. All of them."

"Have you gotten through to the Commish yet?" Terry asked, his voice low.

"She's not answering. You have to understand she's probably in the middle of a media circus right now. So is the Mayor."

"Think they're done with the crime scene yet?"

Bruce eyed his protégée. "Why?"

"We have to check it out for ourselves. The cops got their tip late. We have to stay on top of this. I'm going down there."

"No, you're not."

"What other choice do we have, Bruce? One person a week. How many weeks are in a year? We can't let them kill another innocent person. I have to do something."

Bruce stood, his gaze hardening. "If you go down there, you'll be doing more harm than good. Even if you can get the suit over that broken arm, if the cops find you down there, you'll be apprehended, your identity will be exposed, and it will be impossible to stop Kobra with you in hiding, in jail, or dead."

Terry's left hand balled into a fist. "I can do this."

"No, you can't."

The boy let out a harsh bark of laughter, a bitter sound. "You're a hypocrite, you know. If it had been you back in the day, what would you have done?"

"Being Batman isn't always about doing everything yourself. I had people I trusted. When times got rough, I learned to work with them. The mind is just as important as the body."

"Well, last time I checked, we've only got the Commish, who is indisposed, and the mutt," he said, pointing at the snoozing dog by his feet.

"So I don't see any other option."

Bruce's hand tightened around the cane. "Maybe…we do."

"The suit?"

"No. But you're not going to like it."

Terry stared into his mentor's wintry blue eyes and then realized what he meant. "You're not serious. You said it yourself. She's not ready."

"She isn't, but that's not the point. Kobra has named their price. One citizen a week. We need someone now. The suit won't be operational for another week at the least."

"No. Absolutely not. I'm not dragging her into this. I swore I wouldn't."

"She's already involved."

"She's my best friend."

"And she's the only solution we have at the moment."

"I won't let her get hurt."

"I know. That's why you're going to train her."

Terry froze. "What?"

"You don't want her to get hurt so we're going to teach her everything we know until she's ready. It'll only be until the suit's operational so she has less of a chance of getting herself into trouble. I'll work on the suit full time while you help her investigate Kobra's innermost workings. She's been around them before. She'll have an insight."

"And what if the Commish finds out?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. In the meantime, call Max."

Terry glanced at the computer screen, watching the interviews from distraught family members of the late Hugh Ackerman. Saw his daughter, his sons, his wife, with tears streaming down their faces. Not too long ago, he'd been the same way—overcome with grief over his father's death. He couldn't let this happen to another family. He had promised himself to protect the citizens of Gotham, to use his second chance to erase the sins of his past. He just never thought it would involve someone else he cared about.

"Fine," he said slowly, "But this has to be on my terms. If anything happens to Max, anything at all, I'm putting the suit back on and I'm taking my chances."

He turned and strode into the darkness without another word.

* * *

"Is she in?"

"No, the Commissioner is occupied until six o'clock tonight. Would you like to leave a message?"

"No, it's alright. I'll call back tonight." Max hung up and leaned her head against the headboard of her bed. She had expected as much, but she still had to try anyway. One step forward, two steps back. She'd saved one life only to lose another. One person a week. One random person would be living his or her life and then suddenly wouldn't be. No one deserved that. No one.

She reached for the painkillers on the nightstand and tossed one in her mouth, downing it with a sip of water. The pain in her throat was raw and felt like flames licking up her skin. It was worse than the bruises she'd gotten from her karate classes. Plus, she hadn't slept well, not even after her chat with Terry. She kept dreaming about being suffocated, held down with a pillow over her face, being buried alive, thrown into the ocean and trying to swim up to the surface miles above her.

Her thoughts were so consuming that it took her a minute to realize someone was tapping on her bedroom window.

Max opened her eyes, staring in shock at the fire escape as she spotted her best friend. She stood and walked over, sliding it open.

"Can't you use the door like a normal person?"

"Sorry. Force of habit," Terry admitted, climbing down into her room. She shut the window, shaking her head.

"Wasn't it really hard to get up there with your arm in a cast?"

Terry shrugged. She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, we all know you're a big macho tough guy. What do you want? Need some leads about the Kobra case? Because I'll admit right now that I'm back to Square One."

"No. I need to ask you a favor."

"Another one?" she grinned but then he didn't return it, which worried her. He sat at the foot of her bed, keeping his eyes on the floor.

"You remember what I said yesterday? About not wanting you to throw away your future?"

"Yeah, why?"

He winced. "I suppose you wouldn't mind delaying it a little?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You heard what Kobra said. One person a week. Bruce and I are out of options. We need your help. He told me to ask you to be our pair of hands for a couple weeks. A field agent, as it were."

Her jaw dropped. "Are you asking me to be Batgirl?"

"No," he said, exasperated. "It's temporary. _Very_ temporary. But with this busted arm, there's stuff I can't do on myself. I'll have to walk you through it."

He met her eyes finally. "But if you say no, I completely understand. We can figure something else out."

Max crossed her arms. "Are you kidding me? Kobra and I have a score to settle. The bastards kidnapped me, cracked four of your ribs, and almost nuked the entire planet. I've been dying to settle the score. You bet your ass I'm in."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Terry sighed. "But before we get into any of that, I need all the info you've got on Kobra. Everything."

"Got it." She walked over to her mattress where her laptop sat, tapping it awake. He followed her, watching as she brought up all the data she'd compiled so far. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted her nightstand.

"Hey. What's this?"

Max's head whipped around as his hand closed around the bottle of painkillers. "They're for my cat. She's been having some medical problems lately."

Terry's eyes narrowed at the suddenly casual tone in her voice. "I see. Then why's it authorized by your personal doctor?"

"Why the hell do you know who my physician is?"

"Remember when you broke your tailbone when we went ice skating? I was there. This was approved by Dr. Perkins. What's wrong? Why the hell do you need painkillers?"

"That's none of your business, McGinnis," she hissed, snatching them out of his hands.

He glared at her for another handful of seconds and then grabbed the edge of her robe, yanking down the hem before she could react. He paled as he saw the circle of bruises around her throat, his anger melding into concern.

"Jesus, Max. What happened?"

She jerked away, unable to help feeling guilty at the expression on his face. "It's…a long story. And you can skip the lecture, I've already heard it."

"You told me to believe in you. I can't do that if you won't let me in."

"What? The way you let me in?" she sneered.

"I have!" he exclaimed, agitated once again. "You're the only girl who knows about my secret, Max. In the whole damn city. I trust you enough to put me back together every time I bust something. I tell you everything. What more do you want?"

She flinched, realizing he had a point. She sunk down on the bed, tugging the robe closed a little more. "Fine. I got a tip that Peter Toben was around. I tailed him and stopped him from murdering a little old lady. Things got a bit…rough. But I stopped him and that's the important part."

"You went by yourself?"

"Told you I didn't need the lecture, McGinnis. The Commish kicked me off the case temporarily so spare me, alright? It's not like I thought I'd be witnessing attempted murder when I started following the guy."

Terry forced himself to swallow the speech in the back of his throat and instead focused on the other issue hanging awkwardly between them. "Are you okay?"

"Clearly I'm not if I'm taking painkillers," she answered with no small amount of sarcasm.

He shook his head. "No, stupid. Are you _okay_?"

She recognized the tone in his voice. He'd slipped out of Batman mode. He was back to being her best friend again—the sweet, understanding side that she sometimes forgot he had. She shrugged.

"I guess so."

"Liar," he said with a soft smile as he sat next to her. "It's different, isn't it?"

"What?"

"Having to fight a real bad guy instead of a sensei."

She let out a hollow laugh. "No shit, Sherlock."

He slipped his good arm around her shoulder, pulling her close until she could rest her forehead against the side of his neck. "Sorry."

"Don't be."

"You kick his ass?"

"Like you wouldn't believe."

Terry grinned. "Atta girl. But if you lie to me again, I'll tie you to the bed for a week. Get me?"

She snorted. "Kinky bastard."

"Damn right. Now let's get going. We've got a city to save, Gibson."

* * *

Peter Toben was cold and in excruciating pain. He'd called for the guards at least four times because the meds they gave him for his face had worn off. The skin throbbed every few seconds like a gigantic festering boil of some sort. A face bunion, some immature part of his brain snickered. He'd be lucky to get out of the year without permanent scars. Damn that black bitch.

Still, part of him wished they'd put him with the general populace. At least he'd have someone to talk to instead of being stuck by himself. Being in the center of a conspiracy meant they couldn't chance leaving him with the other suspects. When the Commissioner returned, she'd be pissed. It didn't matter, not to him anyway. They could probe all the want and wouldn't get anything else. There was a plan. All he had to do was follow it.

Footsteps echoed. Toben let out a growl.

"Took ya long enough. My face feels like shit. Get me some painkillers, will ya?"

"Your pain will not last long, Mr. Toben. I can assure you."

His eyes widened as the uniformed man walked up to the edge of his cell. Darkness prevented him from seeing his face but he knew that voice. It was drier than a bone and so quiet it sent shivers down his spine.

"W-What are you doing here?"

"I think you know why I'm here."

Toben fidgeted, holding his hands up in supplications. "I told them exactly what you wanted me to, man. Just what you said. Down to the letter. I swear."

"And I thank you for that. You've done a wonderful job."

"Then why are you here?"

"To give you your reward."

"It was fifty-grand in my account. No need for a personal visit. I'm gonna use the money for bail and skip town. That's the plan. That's what you told me."

"Yes, it is. But unfortunately, sometimes things go astray. Sometimes plans chance."

The man unlocked the jail cell and Toben cowered against the far wall, screaming for help but his cries fell on deaf ears.

"Relax, Mr. Toben. I told you. Your pain will not last long."

* * *

**Thanks for your patience, readers. More to come as soon as I can get it out. Don't forget to review. **

**Kyoko**


	6. Chapter 6

Commissioner Barbara Gordon was _furious_.

"How? How the hell did this happen in my goddamn precinct?" she spat at her lieutenant and every police officer who had been on duty when Peter Toben was murdered.

"Commissioner, it's too early for any answers. We've got forensics sweeping the entire jail cell for any evidence but it'll take time—"

"Time? You want to pull that card on me, Javier? I told you to that Toben was the key to cracking the Kobra case and you let someone waltz in here on your watch and take him out. This is unacceptable."

The Hispanic GPD officer shut his mouth, his jaw clenching as he fought not to defend himself from her wrath. Gordon continued on without hesitation.

"I want every single one of you to inspect every inch of this place from the tiniest cracks in the walls to the rooftop. I want everyone accounted for—every officer, every prisoner, anyone who has been in this building for the past 48 hours. I want Toben's killer found and I want him found now, or you're all suspended without pay for the rest of the month. Is that clear?"

Several voices chorused somber "yes, ma'ams." She jerked her head towards the door.

"You're dismissed."

They filed out of her office in a hurry, spreading out to complete their orders. Gordon collapsed in her chair and massaged the bridge of her nose. It had been years since she'd been this angry and frustrated. She hated speaking to her staff like they were reckless minimum wage workers but she knew nothing lit a fire under their butts than the threat of being suspended.

She popped an Alka Seltzer into the glass of water on her desk and watched it fizz. It reminded her of her father in his later years. Jim Gordon had been a healthy fellow but he had a bad habit of getting ulcers during bad times. She seemed to have inherit it as well.

Her phone rang and she checked the number. Her husband, Sam, the district attorney. She let it go to voicemail. She loved him dearly but it wasn't the time for comfort. She needed answers and those would come from another source.

She dialed the number from memory. It rang twice before the old man picked up.

"Barbara? If you're calling at this hour, it can't be good news."

"Afraid not. Peter Toben is dead."

A pause. "I can't say I'm surprised."

She frowned. "You knew this would happen?"

"Hoped it wouldn't but Kobra doesn't like to leave witnesses. What have you got so far?"

"I'm hoping it's not an inside job but he was hit in the precinct. It was late at night so there was minimal staff but someone had to have tipped the killer off. We don't share that kind of information. I'm guessing it happened during the shift change. The cameras have been wiped clean. I've got my people in there sweeping for any signs of evidence but I doubt they'll find anything. I hate to ask, but I need any files you have on professional hitters for hire. Especially recent ones."

"What was the cause of death?"

"His body's on the slab but the initial prognosis is poison. There was an injection site in the side of his neck."

"Let me guess. Two pricks, like a snakebite."

Gordon let a bitter smile cross her lips. "They're a theatrical bunch, aren't they?"

"That's an understatement. I'll send you what I have. Keep me updated."

"As long as you promise to do the same."

She softened her voice. "How's the kid?"

"Stubborn."

"Surprise, surprise."

"Hrm."

She almost smiled. "Give him my best. I've got to get back to work."

"Same. Good luck."

"Ditto."

She hung up and pressed her hand against her lips. She didn't like operating outside of the law. She believed in the badge, in what it represented. In what it meant to her and her father's legacy. But sometimes, Gotham really did need a dark knight. She just hoped it wouldn't for long.

* * *

"Have I mentioned that this is completely stupid?"

"Yeah, about twenty times."

"Good, because it is."

"Too bad. You have to walk before you can run."

"Yeah, you're the one who's gonna be running if you keep this up."

"Max. You said you'd cooperate."

She crossed her arms and heaved a sigh. "Fine. Start the clock."

"Alright. Ready…set…go!"

She grabbed the grapple at her waist and hooked it to the beam above her head. She tugged on the line twice to make sure it was secure and then peered below her. About twenty feet down was a little blue marble that sat in the middle of a touch-sensitive panel. The holodeck provided her with several obstacles to overcome—large crates, security cameras, and her personal favorite, roaming robotic guards. Her target time was three minutes and thirty seconds. This was her fourth attempt.

She rappelled down onto the nearest crate and checked her corners. Nothing flanking her yet. She hid in the shadow of the box for a handful of seconds, waiting for the sentry to drift past her target. She counted how long it took before the next one showed up and then checked the rotation of the security camera. They intersected at a certain point, about every forty-five seconds. She had a window of time.

She crept down the boxes to the floor and knelt, waiting for her chance. When the sentry disappeared around the corner, she darted forward and withdrew a smoke bomb from her belt. She went on one knee outside of the touch pad's circle, closing one eye to aim. It was all about finesse. Not too much power but enough to get the job done.

She flicked her first finger and the orb knocked the marble out of its place in the center of the circle. It rolled off and she held her breath as the bomb bounced once, almost hitting the rim. It stopped about an inch away and she sighed in relief, scooping up the marble from the other side.

She tucked it in the pocket of her borrowed utility belt and scurried back to her hiding spot at the top of the crates just as the nearest sentry wandered past. She grabbed her line and climbed back up to the ceiling. The lights came back on and she winced, turning off the night vision mode of the Domino mask she wore.

"How was that?"

"Not bad," Terry said, walking into the training room with a stopwatch in his left hand.

"But you're still twenty seconds over."

Max groaned, leaning her head back against the beam. "And you call Bruce the perfectionist."

He glared up at her. "Hey, no one said this would be a cakewalk."

"I know, but this is anal even for you," she said, standing up and yanking off the mask in frustration. "What's an extra twenty seconds matter anyway?"

"Everything, Max. The cops don't know we're working with Gordon. They're under orders to arrest any vigilante on sight. You have to move quickly and quietly every single time. It only takes a few seconds to get caught. You know what'll happen after that."

"Yeah, I get it. But there are still other things I could be learning right now."

He arched an eyebrow. "Such as?"

She grabbed the line in one hand, sliding down to meet him in a smooth motion that he had to admit was pretty good for a beginner. "Like how to work the controls in the suit, maybe?"

He shook his head. "Baby steps, Max. You have to work up to it."

She tossed him a sarcastic look. "Oh, like you did? Breaking into the case and stealing right from under Bruce's nose?"

He scowled. "Not my point. Come on, we need to run through it again."

Max groaned. "I'm starting to think you're just getting off on bossing me around."

He flashed her a sly grin. "I will neither confirm nor deny that."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm going to break your other arm if you keep it up."

"Patience, young Padawan."

"Up yours, Yoda."

He chuckled. "Back to your spot, Gibson. You've still got twenty seconds to shave off your time."

"What do I get if I do it this time?"

He thought about it. "I'll teach you how to pilot the batmobile."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"You're on."

He shook his head at the eagerness in his best friend's voice and walked out of the training room. The door hissed shut behind him and he watched her crawl back up the zipline to the beam near the ceiling. He hadn't noticed how chiseled her form looked in the simple black turtleneck and track pants. She'd lost weight thanks to her martial arts training and it showed. Not that she had been anything near chunky or that she needed to lose weight at all. It just made her abs seem even flatter and her legs were endless.

"Ready," she said, tearing him out of his odd thought patterns.

"Ready…set…go!"

She slid down from the ceiling and he lost sight of her for a minute or two. He leaned closer towards the glass, trying to spot her in the dim lighting but it was difficult.

"Done."

His jaw dropped. He looked at the stopwatch. She beat his time by over a minute. Damn.

He walked back into the training room as she hopped down with the smuggest grin he'd ever seen on her face. He eyed her.

"Were you just being bad at this so that I'd offer to let you drive the batmobile?"

She moved in close and pinched his cheek. "Oh, McGinnis. You read me like a book."

She sauntered past him into the cave. Terry sighed. Max: 1. Terry: zip. He definitely needed to get back in the game.

He had to admit she was pretty cute as she practically skipped over to the launch pad where the jet sat glistening in its sleek perfection. She ran her fingertips over the gorgeous paint job, admiring the classic style it presented. Batman may have changed over the years but the batmobile was still the most badass thing she'd ever laid eyes on.

"Should I even ask what the horsepower on this thing is?" she said with no small amount of amusement.

"Nope. It'll just make your head hurt. Besides, it's more of a jet than a car," Terry said, punching in the manual code to open it. The hood slid back and he climbed in first, taking a seat. She stood behind him, leaning over the chair as he started pointing out the controls one by one.

Once he finished, she started with her own set of questions. "So you can operate in the suit, out of the suit, and from the computer?"

"Yeah. Pretty handy when you get stuck in a bad situation."

"I'll say. You can't believe how much harder it would've been trying to drag your heavy butt into my car after that fire."

He pouted. "Hey. I've been watching my figure, thank you very much.'

Max rolled her eyes. "_Anyway_. How sensitive are the controls?"

He slid both hands onto the steering joysticks, wincing as the cast on his right hand bumped against the rim. Max offered him a sympathetic look. She knew he hadn't been taking the painkillers faithfully because they made him a bit loopy.

"Here," she said, taking a seat on his right leg and using her hand instead. "I'll be your right hand."

"Just like always," Terry said with a small but genuine smile.

"You're so corny sometimes."

"Whatever, you love me," he said, settling his right arm on the chair. "It works sort of like a motorcycle. Moving forward means turning the controls up. Slowing down means turning the controls down. This thing turns on a dime so it takes a while getting used to that kind of precision. The suit has an automatic setting to make sure you don't smear yourself against a skyscraper but you're still the pilot and minding your surroundings is the most important part."

"How fast can you go?"

"Mach 3."

She let her eyelids flutter shut. "Oh, baby."

Terry tried not to think about how incredibly sexy that sounded with her soft body pressed against him. "Should I leave you and the batmobile alone for a moment?"

She glanced at him over her shoulder. "Jealous?"

He smirked. "Who wouldn't be?"

"Oh, so now that I'm sitting in your lap, you want to be all nice to me? What happened to Drill Sergeant McGinnis?"

He shrugged. "Guess I'm getting soft in my old age. Besides, you boss me around enough. I wouldn't be me if I didn't return the favor."

She frowned at first but then thought better of herself. She turned and he thought she was about to get up, much to his dismay, but instead she twisted around and surprised him by wrapping her arms around his shoulders and sitting directly in his lap. Hot blood flooded his cheeks—and _other_ areas—as her fingertips teased the small hairs on the nape of his neck. He caught a faint whiff of her shampoo because her face was less than four inches from his and he could feel the warmth from her legs on either side of his thighs. It took all of his will power not to glance down at her full dark lips only inches away.

"I thought you liked strong women," Max purred. "Are you saying I'm too much for you, McGinnis?"

He swallowed hard. She was just messing with his head. It wasn't unusual. They took turns in the harmless flirting department but he had to admit she was definitely winning the war at the moment because he completely forgot any other woman existed except for her.

"Not at all," he murmured once he'd composed himself. "Nothing's hotter than a girl who can kick my ass."

She chuckled. "I was right. You are a kinky bastard."

He let the same amount of seduction slip into his voice, slide across his blue eyes so that she could see the danger and the intrigue beneath them. He swore he heard her breathing stop when she saw that look and pride swelled through his chest. The tables had turned.

"You have no idea."

"Am I interrupting?"

Both of them jumped as Bruce's deeply disapproving voice cut through the dark. Max leapt out of Terry's lap as she spotted the old man at the bottom of the staircase. She could tell he couldn't see exactly what they were doing but it wasn't like he needed to. It looked incredibly inappropriate in any context.

"I was just—we were just—working on the controls," Terry stammered, praying to God Bruce couldn't see how red his face was from that far away.

Bruce arched an eyebrow, glancing between the two thoroughly embarrassed teenagers.

"I can see that. Your 'training' is going to have to wait. Toben's been murdered. We need to visit Mrs. Greene's residence to see if he left anything behind."

"Right. I'll…go change," Max muttered, hurrying off to the locker room.

Terry followed Bruce to the computer, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously.

"That, um, wasn't what it looked like."

"Mm-hm," the old man said with the utmost sarcasm. "It never is."

"I was just showing her the joystick."

Bruce stared at him. Terry flushed even darker. "Not like _that_."

"Mm-hm."

Silence permeated the cave.

"I'm gonna go walk Ace."

"You do that."

* * *

A cold voice sliced through the dark.

"Is it done?"

"Yes, it is, my Queen."

"Excellent. We're right on schedule. Tell me. Did he have anything interesting to say?"

"Not entirely, but…"

"Yes?"

"He mentioned a girl."

"What girl?"

"The one who took away the Master."

"Are you sure it's her?"

"Yes, my Queen."

"Well. How unexpectedly delightful. I'll have to make sure to extend a warm welcome to her. Good work. Move on to the next phase."

"Yes, my Queen."

* * *

**See? Told you shippy stuff was on the way. And it's just the beginning, my friends. *steeples fingers, Megatron voice* Yeees, yeeees. Review if you want more.**

**Also, anyone who catches my _Castle_ reference gets a shout out in the next chapter. I am a shameless reference whore. More to come.**

**Kyoko**


	7. Chapter 7

Terry honestly couldn't stop pacing.

"Are you done yet?"

"Don't rush me. You remember what it was like trying to put this thing on for the first time? It's not exactly easy."

Terry paused, glancing at the closed door to the locker room. "What? Need me to zip you up?"

"Ha. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

He grinned in spite of himself. "No comment."

"I'll bet."

The door slid aside. He heard sharp footfalls and then Max walked into the light. Terry would have liked to think his face was neutral but he knew it was a bold-faced lie.

She looked incredible. The suit automatically molded to any body type as soon as it went on and hers was no exception. Her legs appeared to go on forever, leading up to the hourglass shape of her hips and the sloping curve of her chest. However, she wasn't just gorgeous. He could see the strength in her arms and thighs. She'd been working out recently. It showed.

"So? What do you think?" Max asked with no small amount of excitement, performing one perfect pirouette for her pseudo-master.

Terry cleared his throat, once again praying the darkness hid his face. "It's fine. Have you got the general gist of the controls?"

"Yeah. It's not unlike a VR suit, you know. I wonder if that's what the designer had in mind."

Terry snorted. "Trying to imagine Bruce playing a video games makes my head hurt. Come on. We need to get you out of here."

He walked her over to the batmobile. She slid the cowl down over her face and hopped inside, eagerly reaching for the controls.

"It's already set for your destination so just strap in for now."

Max pouted. "Take all the fun out of life."

He frowned. She rolled her eyes. "You know what I meant. Anything else, sensei?"

"Yeah. You're going to need to work on your voice. The mask will do half of your job for you but it's important to have an edge. Bad guys are pretty sexist. They tend to think women are less capable superheroes. You'll have to earn your reputation for the time being."

"I'll have to practice. Not everyone is blessed with a smoky voice like you, Batboy."

He smirked, dropping his tone as low as it would go. "Get going, Batgirl."

The hull slid shut and the jet fired up, lifting into the air. He stepped away and watched it blast out of the tunnel. Once she was out of sight, he exhaled and walked back to the computer console where Bruce and Ace were waiting. He wished it were only simple concern that made a cold weight in his gut but part of him knew that was a lie.

"You should make it there in less than fifteen minutes," Bruce said over the link in her ear. "There will be a surveillance team. With Toben dead, they'll be monitoring to see if the murderer drops by to destroy evidence."

"Got it," Max said in a slightly deeper intonation. "How's that?"

"Better," Terry answered. "But you still sound too…"

"Casual?"

"Cute."

She made a scornful noise. "Normally, I'd consider that a compliment but now it's just insulting. Remind me to kick you in the shin when I get back."

"Will do."

They fell silent until she reached the apartment of Amanda Green—Toben's intended first target on Kobra's list. The batmobile went into camouflage mode and she followed suit, tapping the button on the center of the suit. She hopped out and took a quick look around, checking for the presence of any police.

"If there are cops here, where would they most likely be?" she asked.

"They'd need a high vantage point. The power company is across the street. Stay hidden until we give you the all clear. I'll take a look," Bruce said.

"Got it."

She walked to the edge of the building and activated the magnetic soles of her boots. Taking a deep breath, she tested the parapet, praying she hadn't made a bad judgment call. Thankfully, she stuck to the wall like glue and let out a quick, relieved breath before beginning her descent. She flicked out her claws and climbed to the right floor, searching for the window.

"You're sure they don't have infrared scopes?" she whispered, peering into the empty apartment.

"The police department is under-funded. Has been for years. However, just to be safe, we'll create a small distraction."

"Distraction?"

She jumped as she heard a small explosion in the alley across the street. Parts of a dumpster went flying into the street, causing cars to screech on their brakes. It took her a second to realize the invisible jet had blown it up. As predicted, a couple lights in the power company building flickered off. She adjusted her cowl to binocular mode, spotting several men heading towards the elevator to check it out. She glimpsed a couple of badges on their waists and knew the old man's hunch had been right.

"Get moving."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n," she mumbled, picking the lock to the window. She slid it up and crawled in, shutting it as soon as possible. The air was frigid, proof that Amanda hadn't been home since the incident.

"Gordon's men would have gotten anything obvious like skin samples or leftover clothing. What exactly should I be looking for?"

"Chances are that they had Amanda under observation before they sent Toben after her," Terry said. "Cops check for that, but like Bruce said, they're under-equipped. We might get lucky."

"The benefit of having all the toys, I guess," she chuckled, changing the scope in her cowl yet again. She chose the x-ray mode and started in the den, sweeping back and forth examining all she could see. She checked the kitchen, the hall closet, the bedroom, and the bathroom with nothing to show for it.

"Where?" she muttered, chewing her bottom lip. "Where are you hiding?"

She stood in the middle of the den, hands on her hips. "What did you say this lady did for a living?"

"She's a retired professor."

"Professor, huh? Does she have an active library card with Gotham University?"

Bruce typed in a few things to check. "Yes."

"I bet you anything it's over here," she said, pointing to the absurdly large bookshelf that took up the far wall.

"That'll take all night to search. Those cops will be back pretty soon, Max," Terry warned.

"Wait. Just a second. I think I've got something."

She knelt, reading the names of the books towards the end of the shelf. "She has a system. See the spines of these books here?"

"Yeah?"

"They're all worn out. It's stuff she's probably read a dozen times. The ones to the right are all things she probably hasn't read. And I know something that all professors and generally intelligent readers stay away from."

"And that would be?"

Max grinned, selecting the title. "_Fifty Shades of Grey_. Bet one of her colleagues gave this to her as a joke."

"You really think Kobra hid a camera in a crappy erotic novel from the early 2010's?"

She used a claw to slit the side of the book open, peeling it apart. Inside, she found a long, skinny microphone and tiny lens.

"You were saying?"

"Don't get smug. It's very unattractive."

"Whatever you say, Batboy." She snipped the wire keeping the device on and stripped it out of its hiding spot, slipping it onto her belt.

"Good work. Gordon's men are probably on their way back. Get moving."

She shimmied out of the window and started climbing back towards the roof. Just as she did, a bloodcurdling scream cut through the night. She froze, her head snapping to detect the origin of the sound.

"What the hell was that?"

She touched her cowl, scanning the streets below. She spotted several Jokerz running after a blonde woman, chasing her into the alley.

"Max, don't. The cops aren't far. They can take care of those bozos."

"Are you serious?" she snarled. "You want me to just walk away?"

"Max—"

Annoyed, the pink-haired vigilante shut off the radio link. Max let go of the wall and her wings sprouted from her arms. She glided in a soaring arc towards the alley, bringing the criminals into full view. There were six of them, all with switchblades. The woman was cornered, clutching her purse in front of her for protection.

"Stay away from me! Stay away!"

"Aw, c'mon, babe. We don't bite," one cackled, licking his painted lips.

"Speak for yourself," another snickered, tossing his blade from one hand to the other.

"We just want a little taste. It'll be over before you know it."

"Sooner than you think, dregs."

The gang turned just as Max came flying out of the shadows, both fists aimed for the closest one. She ploughed straight into him, smashing him against the brick wall to the left of the blonde. He cried out, slumping motionless to the floor.

"Shit! It's the Bat!" one of them shouted, backpedaling.

Max straightened up, lifting her fists into a fighting position. The gang members did a double take and their sickening smiles returned.

"Whoa. Wait a minute. I don't remember the Bat lookin' that damn good. We got ourselves a new girl. What's your name, sweetheart?"

"You won't be able to pronounce it because you're gonna be picking your teeth up off the floor," Max growled.

"Now back off or you'll get what your friend here got."

The thug in purple licked his knife. "I like 'em tough. Gimme your best shot."

Max spared him a dangerous smirk. "Just remember—you asked for it."

She ran at him. He tried to stab her but she blocked the wide, sloppy movement with a forearm, punching him in the stomach. He crumpled in half, going limp, and she tossed him into one of his buddies. The other three attacked all at once.

Max leapt into the air, swinging her left leg around in a circle. She hit all three and landed back on her feet with perfect grace while they fell back, nursing their wounds.

The second thug got back up, aiming for her stomach. She sidestepped and slammed her elbow into his spine, bringing her knee up to connect with his chin. He hit the ground, out cold.

The other two leapt for her again and she grabbed one's wrist, twisting it so he dropped the knife. She kicked him in the nuts and knocked his head into his partner's. They groaned in unison and collapsed, dazed. She dusted off her hands, content with the assorted heaps of injured clowns.

She turned to the woman, softening her tone. "Are you alright?"

The girl brushed her mussed locks out of her brown eyes. "I-I'm fine. Thank you so much. You saved my life."

"No problem. Stay out of trouble, okay?"

"I will, I promise."

With a polite nod, Max expanded her wings once more and flew off into the night, not hiding the smile on her lips.

Unfortunately, it didn't last very long. When she returned to the Cave, there were two rather ornery Batmen waiting for her.

"What the hell was that?" Terry spat as soon as she hopped out of the jet.

Max pulled off her mask, feigning innocence. "What?"

"You turned off your radio."

She shrugged. "It was distracting me."

"You were supposed to get the evidence and go. You're not ready to engage anyone yet."

"Really? So the six guys lying in that alley with their asses handed to them are proof of how unready I am?"

Terry ran a hand through his hair, taking a slow breath. "And there it is."

She glared at him, crossing her arms. "There _what_ it is?"

"That attitude of yours. This is why I didn't want you out there until you had more training. You think you've got it all figured it out, don't you?"

"No, actually I don't. I just think I know more about my abilities than you do."

"Yes, because of your vast experience in the crime-fighting arena."

"Don't patronize me, Terry. You would have done the same thing if you were in my shoes."

"Yeah, but you're not. You can't take risks like this. All it takes is one mistake. All it takes is one misstep and that's it. That's all there is between you and death."

"You think I don't know that? Last time I checked, I'm not the one with a broken arm."

Terry's mouth flew open to say more but then Bruce's voice cut through the dark

"Enough," the old man said, walking towards them. "Arguing isn't going to solve anything."

"I know. Tell her she's wrong and this will all be over."

"I'm not going to do that."

Terry rounded on his mentor, shocked. Bruce set his jaw. "She's right. You and I both know we would have done the same thing in her place."

Max started to smirk but then Bruce frowned at her. "But you had no right to turn off the radio just because you disagreed with him. It could have gotten you killed. You're done for the night. Go change."

"Bruce—"

"_Now_."

She swallowed another angry protest and stalked past them without another word. Terry sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. His head was throbbing again. Briefly, he considered taking his painkillers but this was no time to be incoherent.

"I told you this would happen," he said, watching as she slammed the door to the locker room. "She's too headstrong. Impatient. She's—"

"—exactly like you when you started."

Terry started to protest but Bruce shook his head. "It's uncanny. You're both stubborn and hard-headed. And that's a good thing."

The younger Batman eyed his mentor. "How so?'

"If you can stop being overprotective for two seconds, you can remember what it was like when you first started and talk her out of it before she gets herself into too much trouble."

Terry absorbed his words. It hadn't occurred to him that he'd changed over the course of being Batman. When he thought about it, he did have a better perspective on how to handle certain dilemmas. He didn't rush in headfirst any longer. He'd made enough mistakes to know what worked and what didn't.

"Alright, so maybe you have a point," he grumbled. "But you're wrong about one thing."

Bruce merely arched an eyebrow. "I'm not overprotective."

The old man glanced at the locker room and then back at his protégée.

"…right."

* * *

"Was the mission a success?"

The woman pulled off her blonde wig, fluffing out her long black tresses. She knelt in the spotlight, bowing her head.

"Yes, my Queen. They have taken the bait."

"Was she there?"

"I believe she was, my Queen. What are your orders?"

"Keep an eye on her. We'll need her if we truly want to destroy the Bat. Good work, my dear. You have served me well."

"Thank you, my Queen."

* * *

**Sorry for the long absence. Working full time and writing a novel or two. Also slightly upset no one got my Castle reference but I suppose nothing's perfect. The plot is a-thickenin' so hold on tight. Should have more for your hungry eyes soon, with even shippier stuff. Don't forget to review. **

**Kyoko**


	8. Chapter 8

He gave her half an hour to cool off before heading up to the personal gym tucked away in one of the many wings of Wayne Manor. He knew she'd be there rather than at her own apartment because it had one thing her home lacked—a punching bag. Max Gibson was many things, but even-tempered was not one of them. She was a traditional gal. When she got angry, she hit things. He could relate.

He still had trouble relying on his left hand instead of his right, so he reached for the door with his right and winced as it strained his shoulder. Beneath his t-shirt lay a ring of purplish bruises that made it hard to maneuver without pain. He never complained about pain because it was part of the job, but he truly hated his new injury. He'd broken his ribs before and that was infuriatingly painful. The broken arm was creeping up on that as his least favorite bang up.

As soon as he opened the door, he heard the repetitive smack of Max's gloves against the leather bag. They were sloppy and rough, meaning she was still angry. He took a deep breath and entered the gym, settling his eyes on her. She'd changed out of the batsuit and into a white tank top and knee-length black shorts. Part of him thanked God she didn't train in a bra and Lycra bike shorts. He wasn't sure he'd be able to handle the sight.

Sweat dripped down her dark skin as she moved, fluidly, bobbing and weaving to avoid the bag as it swung perilously back and forth. Her bright pink hair stuck to her forehead, damp from exertion. She probably hadn't taken a break yet.

He opted for humor instead of being direct. "Whatever that bag did to you, I'm sure it's sorry."

Max didn't look at him. She just kept punching. Bad sign, he thought. "At least someone is."

Terry winced. "Don't suppose you'd rather switch to something a little more challenging?"

"Like what? You gonna reassign me to babysit your brother?"

Terry peeled off the sling around his shoulder and tossed it aside. "Thought you might want to spar."

Max stopped. Turned. Arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

Terry offered her a winsome smile. "Y'know, if you're up for it."

She stared at him, then licked her lips as she tried to articulate her thoughts. "Did you forget that you have a broken arm?"

"Nope. I can spar without using it."

"Really?" Her sarcasm was thick enough to frost a cake with.

"Really."

"You do know you're basically inviting me to kick your ass."

Terry shrugged his uninjured shoulder. "Do you want to or not?"

She stepped away from the bag, cracking her knuckles. "Boy, do I ever."

They met on the mat. Terry moved his right arm behind his back, adopting a side stance with his left arm down. Max lifted both fists, shaking her head slightly. She wasn't sure what he was up to, but she did want to vent either way. She promised herself she wouldn't be too rough on him—just enough to muss that perfect face of his and show him her skills. He desperately needed a lesson in humility, in her opinion.

She leapt for him, starting with two quick jabs at his face. He dodged both. She went for a combo next—jab, jab, uppercut, haymaker. Again, she hit nothing but air. He was faster than he looked, and without the suit, to her surprise. She adjusted her footwork, circling to the left. She aimed for his midsection this time and he parried the blows with his left hand. Seeing her chance, she tried to knee him in the stomach but he grabbed her leg and then kicked her ankle out from underneath her. She fell in an unceremonious heap, winded. She glared at him, expecting to see him grinning. He wasn't. He had a look of passive concentration on his face.

Max stood up and darted forward again. She aimed for his face again, pouring on more strength to force him backwards. He adapted to the movements, blocking each shot or knocking it off-center, making her miss. Her kicks missed their mark each time, as if he were anticipating her combat style. Anger unfurled inside her stomach as she swung harder, faster, but not one single punch landed. How on earth was he doing that? How could he stay ahead of her with only one arm?

Frustrated, she went for a shoulder throw, targeting the right side of his body in hopes of catching him off-guard. Instead, he twisted in her grip, grabbed her wrist, and swept her legs out from under her a second time. However, he rode her body to the mat, catching his weight on his good arm with the other still tucked behind him. She lay there, stunned, panting heavily, unsure if she were enraged or impressed.

"So," she said in between ragged gasps. "Is this you proving a point?"

"More of a lesson than a point," Terry answered, not the slightest bit out of breath. She hated that fact.

"Bruce brought up a good point. It's not all about skills, Max. Experience gets you pretty far in this business. It took me a lot of cracked ribs and bruises to figure that out. I've been so hard on you because I _was_ you not too long ago. I thought my fighting skills would be enough to get the job done, but they aren't. Your training isn't something you can pick and choose. You have to accept all of it or none of it. That's the only way you'll ever get ahead and gain Bruce's trust."

Max's breathing slowed as she absorbed his words. She could see past the male ego now. He was being honest, not protective, for once. "And what about yours?"

His brow bunched in a frown. "I trust you, Max."

"Yeah, when it suits you," she said, scowling. "We're practically doing the tango. I get ahead a step and you push me back two. I'm your friend but not your partner. I can wear the suit but I can't drive the car. I'm not a machine, McGinnis. If you say it's all or nothing, then give me everything or don't."

He searched her brown eyes for a moment, his voice soft. "Are we still talking about training?"

Her breath caught. She had tried to ignore the way they were positioned—his legs on either side of hers, almost straddling her if she were being honest, one large hand planted by her shoulder, their upper bodies less than a foot apart. He'd worked up a bit of a sweat, just enough that she could catch the scent of his skin. It wasn't unpleasant. Neither was the view from where she lay. He always wore a wifebeater and track pants when he trained, and she could see the outline of his chest. He was lean and firm everywhere. Had she always known that or was she just now noticing?

"Isn't that all we ever talk about?" she whispered.

Was it her imagination or was he leaning towards her? She had to be going mad. This was Terry—her best friend, her annoying sensei, her opposite. He wasn't her type. He was stubborn and noble and self-assured. He wasn't…hers.

Or was he?

As the last few centimeters disappeared between them, neither person could recall if he'd leaned down or if she had risen up to meet him. All they knew was their lips met. Soft. Uncertain. Cautionary.

Incredible.

Terry tilted his head slightly, his lips parting, silently asking permission. She didn't hesitate, opening her mouth wider to let him in. A shudder spilled down her damp spine as he licked her bottom lip and then drew it between his, sucking just enough to make her groan. Her hands snaked around his neck and her fingers slipped into his thick hair. She took the opportunity to nibble his upper lip, swallowing the growl of approval that followed. Her body shifted on its own, arching upward until the front of their bodies met. The second her plush breasts grazed the hard muscles of his chest, Terry knew something would have to destroy the heavenly moment they'd discovered.

His phone buzzed and then chirped inside his pocket. It might as well have been a gunshot shocking his senses awake. He was _kissing_ his best friend. Kissing and lying on top of, in fact.

Terry pushed up on his good hand, separating their mouths for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Panic gripped him. Holy shit. Where the hell had that come from?

Max's eyes popped open as soon as he stopped kissing her and she too seemed to wake from a trance, realizing the foolish thing they'd just done. She scrambled backwards on her hands and knees, giving him room as he rose up on his knees. Terry stared at her in stupor, winded, flushed, and completely clueless.

"What-?"

Max shook her head, a brisk movement. "Answer it."

He felt the moment slipping between his fingers like sand. She had already drawn the walls up between them again. He cursed under his breath and fumbled for the phone, answering without looking.

"Yeah?"

"Get down here," Bruce said without a greeting. "I've got something."

"Got it." Terry hung up, sending another anxious look at Max.

"He needs me."

She wouldn't meet his eyes. He didn't blame her. "I'll be down in a bit. I just...need a minute. Gotta take a shower."

Probably a cold one, the masculine part of Terry's brain muttered but he ignored it. "Right. I'll...fill you in later."

He headed out the door in a hurry. The kiss replayed in his mind a thousand times over by the time he made it down to cave. Thankfully, it was freezing cold as usual, alleviating his overheated skin. He took several deep breaths, telling himself that he could figure out what happened later.

"What'd you find?"

"The microphone is a high-end and custom made. No serial numbers. The camera too. That tells us that this wasn't just some thug for hire like Toben. These belong to the people pulling the strings."

"Then I take it you didn't find any prints."

Bruce shook his head. "They're smart. However, the fact that it was still in her home means one of two things: that something went wrong and they didn't have time to have someone retrieve it, or that this another false clue to lead us off the trail. Whomever is doing this wants to keep us distracted and one step behind them. We need to visit where Hugh Ackerman was murdered."

"The Commish said the initial cause of death was snake poison. How long before she can confirm it?"

Bruce checked his watch. "A couple hours."

"Well, you just benched Max. What exactly is the plan here?"

Bruce stood, walking over to the stretcher. "This."

Terry followed him, his eyes widened as they fell across the robot lying there. The exo-suit Bruce had once used to save him from Inque was huge, bulky, and slow. The robot before him had more similarities to Zeta-the government infiltration unit that became self-aware and no longer wanted to kill. Its silver chassis was slender and ovular with a red Bat-symbol welded into the chest. Its limbs were long and wiry. Five fingers, no nose or mouth, and two narrow slits for eyes in its face plate.

"Nice," Terry said, whistling, rapping his knuckles against it. "But I thought you said it would take a week to get it operational."

"Fully operational," Bruce corrected. "But all of its basic systems are operational. Time for a test run."

He motioned to the red visor, black gloves, and black boots sitting next to the robot. Terry slipped them on one by one. Bruce hit a tiny switch at the base of the robot's skull. Its eyes lit up a bright white. Terry's visor sprang to life with a heads up display of the virtual environment.

The robot sat up. Terry tested the movements of its head, the hands, the knees, the shoulders, finding every motion smooth and flawless. He took a couple steps back and called the bot forward until it stood up. He couldn't help feeling a bit surprised as it towered over him at about six foot four.

"Aren't people going to be a little weirded out by this thing?" he asked.

"Not exactly." Bruce touched the side of Terry's visor. The silver finish on the robot vanished, darkening to midnight black. Pointy ears, demonic white eyes, and even a utility belt appeared instead. Terry found himself looking at a perfect replica of the batsuit.

"Can it talk?"

"Can it talk?" the robot echoed.

Terry grinned. "You've thought of everything. I've always wanted to trade lines with myself."

Bruce resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the teenager. "It should work well enough to take a look around Ackerman's place. Get it in the jet and I'll set a course for downtown."

Terry guided the robot to the batmobile and watched as it rose into the air, blasting off into the night. He felt a great deal better seeing it rather than Max. She'd hate to hear him say that but it was true. Guilt gnawed at his gut. Maybe she'd understand his hesitance someday. Their relationship was on the eve of something new either way.

He just wished he knew what it was.

* * *

Max wasn't sure if cold showers worked on girls, but she was damn sure trying it anyway.

She cranked the water temperature as low as it would go until liquid ice flowed down her back. She left it that way until her entire body convulsed and her teeth chattered. Then, mercifully, she changed the temperature back to something hospitable for human skin.

She leaned her forehead against the white tile, resisting the urge to knock herself unconscious. What had she done? Why had she kissed him? Was she that lonely? That desperate for attention? It was Terry, for crying out loud. She'd known him for years. He was like a brother to her.

Max wrinkled her nose. No, that wasn't right. Terry was a lot of things to her, but not quite like a brother, no matter how much she wished he was. He refused to let her drop him into that category, somehow. They had joked about it before, when Melissa teased him for hanging out with Max so much. He was family, in a way, but she had been lying to herself about him being like a relative. There were too many late nights when they were lying in bed together, half-sleep, and she realized how much she liked being pressed against that broad chest of his. He was all firm skin and muscles and soft, faded scars. Sometimes when she knew he was asleep, she'd roll her head over and just look at him. Examine the thick eyebrows and the way his hair fell across his forehead. Memorize the perfect curve of his full lips. She only did it on the bad nights, the nights where she wanted to go out but she had too much homework. She needed a boyfriend, dammit. That had been her excuse for why she'd lay awake perving on her best friend.

Max shoved a handful of wet hair away from her eyes. Did he do that when she slept? Did he sneak a peek at her in the middle of the night? Did he wonder what it would be like to kiss her (on the lips, of course he'd kissed her on the cheek before, he was Terry) and give her one of those girlfriend hugs? She knew that one well. It was the one he always gave Dana back when they were dating-his arms around her waist, his hands resting a couple inches above her backside, their fronts pressed completely together, his lips next to her ear, whispering something clever or obscene, Max could never hear from where she stood watching them.

The pink-haired teen shook her head wildly, scattering droplets in all directions. She needed to get a grip. She wasn't interested in Terry. She was a hormone-addled teenager and he was an attractive bad boy with a heart of gold. She wasn't the protagonist in some stupid romance novel. She was a hacker, a brainiac, a bombshell, a straight-A student, and a hero-in-training. One little ole kiss couldn't send everything crashing and burning to the ground. It was just a kiss.

A really good, heart-stopping, toe-curling, endlessly delicious kiss.

Max frowned. This was going to be harder than she thought. Maybe she just needed another cold shower.

Or two.

Or three.

Or seven.

* * *

**Sorry for the delay. Work and novels are weighing me down. I know this chapter's a bit short, but I promise the next one will be more action packed, plus you'll get to see our heroes reacting to the kiss. Thanks for the reviews and the love. You are all wonderful.**

**Kyoko**


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